


Balancing a Ledger

by Argenteus_Draco



Category: Marvel, Marvel Cinematic Universe, The Avengers (Marvel Movies), The Avengers (Marvel) - All Media Types
Genre: Black Widow in Training, But Probably an AU, Character Study, Gen, MCU Canon Compliant (Mostly), Natasha Loves the Ballet, Young Natasha, character sketch
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2018-01-19
Updated: 2018-01-23
Packaged: 2019-03-06 20:24:24
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 2
Words: 1,009
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/13418979
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Argenteus_Draco/pseuds/Argenteus_Draco
Summary: You leave a trail of blood on your way to the dormitory, where you bandage your injuries yourself.There is a trail of red in your future too, but you don't know this yet.





	1. Stained Red

**Author's Note:**

> Prompt: Little Nat in the program but truly loves ballet and wants the starring role in the next production.

Your toes are bleeding. 

You notice only when your lesson is over and you place the soles of your feet against the cold floor of gymnasium. Suddenly, you are grounded. Suddenly, the dull throb that you barely noticed while you were working your routine — over and over and over until every jump, twist, and spin is as natural as placing one foot before the other —  is agony. 

Years later, you will know that this is the intent of your dance lessons. You will stand on a freeway with a bullet in your shoulder and raise the gun in your hands because ignoring the pain isn't even something that you think about anymore, and you're glad for that. But you don't know this now. What you know is that the pink satin of your point shoes is stained red, and that you won't be allowed to perform with stained shoes. You unwrap the ties around your ankles and carefully remove them, before the damage gets any worse. You leave a trail of blood on your way to the dormitory, where you bandage your injuries yourself.

There is a trail of red in your future too, but you don't know this yet either. 

You don't dance the next day; standing is next to impossible, never mind getting en pointe. You don't dance when the instructor from the Bolshoi Ballet comes to observe, because even though you have been practicing on your own, the doctors who x-rayed you said that your growing feet were too soft still for pointe work, and they do not want you to sustain permanent damage. You resolve, watching the other girls fly across the stage, to dedicate yourself to this art, to any work your teachers give you, no matter how grueling. No one ever comes back to observe you, and as you grow there are other lessons, but there is always dance. In the wee hours of the morning, in the dead of winter in freezing safe houses, in every spare moment between missions. It is part of you, the beauty, the discipline, the grace, even as you become other things. 

In the future, you will not dance in secret. In the future, you will not dance alone, but with a girl beside you, an American, the daughter of a man who is as your brother. When her toes bleed from too much practice, you will help her bandage them. You cannot see this future. You cannot even imagine such a thing from the confines of the Red Room. 

Sometimes, even from outside it, you still think you are dreaming, that this could never be your life.


	2. Partners

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> “You’re new, right?” Barbara Morse asks her, illustrating how little attention she paid if she bothered to read Natasha’s file at all before agreeing to work with her.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Prompt: Widow and Mockingbird about to kick ass.

“I don’t much care what Hill assigned you,” Natasha tells the woman who is suiting up beside her. “I work alone.”

“So do I,” Barbara Morse replies, buckling her baton holsters over her shoulders. “But I owe Clint a favor or two.”

If he hadn’t gotten her out of Russia, Natasha swears she would smother Barton in his sleep. She thought the two of them were square, and he would move on to his next charity case, but somehow, even four months after being delivered into S.H.I.E.L.D.’s care, even from his own department, he keeps finding ways to make her life difficult. 

“You’re new, right?” Barbara asks her, illustrating how little attention she paid if she bothered to read Natasha’s file at all before agreeing to work with her. Mistake number one, Agent Morse, she thinks. And you’re bound to make more.

What she tells the other woman though, is simply, “New to S.H.I.E.L.D., yes.” Not new to this life. Barbara Morse may be older than Natasha, but with only four years of field experience, she is by far the green operative. Natasha has been doing this her whole life.

“Let me guess.” Barbara shuts her locker and fixes Natasha with a piercing stare. “You think that we’re soft, inexperienced, vulnerable, because it takes two of us to do what the Red Room would send one for?”

It’s not what she was thinking, but Natasha swings her own locker door closed and turns to leave. “Yeah,” she says. “Something like that.”

“Pretty sure that says more about what the Red Room thinks of it’s agents than about S.H.I.E.L.D.”

That, Natasha knows.

Don’t follow me, she thinks. She doesn’t want another partner. Partners betray you. Or worse, partners come to care about you and get themselves strapped into a memory suppressing machine and wheeled away in cryo-freeze—

But Barbara Morse climbs into the helicopter behind her, smirking in a truly infuriating manner as she settles herself into the seat across from Natasha. “I’ve got your back, Agent Romanoff,” she says. “Whether you like it or not.”

.-.-.-.-. 

Natasha remains standing as the others file out of Maria Hill’s office following the debriefing. The deputy director raises an eyebrow at her. “Can I help you with something, Agent Romanoff?”

“Barton,” she says flatly. “If you insist I work with a partner, I want Barton.”

Maria sits down again, expression unreadable. “Did you have an issue with Agent Morse?”

“She’s… competent,” Natasha admits reluctantly. “But I figure if Barton cares enough to pull strings and keep tabs on me…” she shrugs. She doesn’t mention the text message that had flashed across her S.H.I.E.L.D. issued phone as she re-entered the triskelion. **Heard you were going to medical. I’m coming with soup.** The man really is an endless nuisance. “I didn’t come here to make new friends,” she tells Hill. “I came to S.H.I.E.L.D. to work, and I see no need to have to explain myself to someone new every time you have another mission for me.”

Maria purses her lips and considers her for a long moment. “You know, you’re not really in a position to make demands around here, Agent Romanoff,” she says slowly, a smile creeping onto her face, “but I’ll see what I can do.”


End file.
